The Last Crusade
by Red Nightfall
Summary: An assassin from the future meets an Assassin from the past; but will her secret agenda prevent her from forming the relationships she's been yearning for all her life? Or will it be the other way around?
1. One

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim everything that isn't mine, which is to say, pretty much everything. Except Lilia.

A/N: Don't you just love Assassin's Creed?

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**One**

_Bluish white mist suffused her vision, then solid ground formed under her feet, and she was lost within the memories._

Lilia shifted from foot to foot. She had been crouched in the same position for hours, now, the only movement that of the gentle rocking of the ship. She checked her watch; _midday._ She had another twelve hours to wait; twelve hours to remain hidden; then, enshrouded in darkness, she would slink her way through the bowels of the ship until she found her mark – and he would die.

Just as all those before him had died, and all those after would. She had been trained in the martial arts since she could walk; she was the finest assassin in the world. She ran a finger down the smooth barrel of her _Welrod,_ the assassin's pistol; the smooth, cool metal of the gun had a calming effect. She cleared her mind for the task ahead – the death of the commander of the USS _Eldridge_, pawn of the Templars, and overseer of the Philadelphia Project.

Experiments would be conducted all through the day – Lilia only hoped that tonight would not be too late. The Second World War was raging; it was, as ever, the duty of the Hashshashin to bring about peace, and the sooner she interrupted the latest Templar plot, the sooner she could turn her attention to the next name on her list; Adolf Hitler.

She sighed testily, angry with herself for allowing her concentration to wander. She took a deep breath, closing her dark eyes, and brought her focus back to the task at hand. But when she opened her eyes, her vision began to blur – the bulkhead in front of her seemed to lose cohesion; it was _fading_.

Heart rate increasing, she stood up in the dark. _I'm too late!_ She thought. The Templars had made a breakthrough: it was now or never! She exploded into action; sprinting to the bridge where the commander was no doubt directing the tests. But as she ran, images began to race through her head…

o0o

Lilia came to. She had been running through old memories in the Animus again. Trying to take her mind off the task that lay ahead of her, but as her mentor entered the laboratory carrying the artefact, she realised that nothing could possibly prepare her for what lay ahead.

There would be no soppy farewells, no 'good lucks', no tears.

"Goodbye, Lilia." He said. "Do not fail."

He lifted the lid of the container housing the artefact; Lilia stretched her hand out towards it, feeling the pulsing energy. One finger connected with its smooth surface, and the universe collapsed in on her.

Time flowed backwards, spinning and spiralling, like a film played backwards. Lilia felt as though she was being spun around by the ankles, blood rushing to her head. Then, slowly, the world began to form into one solid vision, the unbearable pressure in Lilia's head began to ease, and she became aware that solid ground was once again under her feet. Blinking in the glaring sunlight, she looked around.

Dusty streets were framed by sandy coloured buildings, some colourfully painted. Merchant stalls lined the streets; people thronged, going about their daily business. There were no cars, no street lights, no commercial shops at all. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving in Damascus, the local time is… god-knows-when," she muttered.

People were beginning to stare, she realised. And she couldn't blame them; she was dressed in a figure hugging black outfit with a utility belt and twenty-first century weapons, and a backpack. And she supposed her half-oriental features must have seemed strange to them as well. Suddenly extremely uncomfortable under mass-scrutiny, she turned hastily to retreat into the shady back alleys.

Out of sight for the moment, she leaned back against the wall. She had been preparing her whole life for this moment – this was her _r__aison d'être,_ but now that she was here, she felt oddly at a loss for what to do. _I need to know when I am,_ she thought. Then it was just a matter of locating the assassins.

The soft sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her meditations, and she lifted her eyes to see a man, hooded and robed in white, walking towards her, head bent. Unable to hide without drawing even more attention to herself, she simply remained still as the man passed her by.

As he left the alley, he turned slightly, observing her from under his hood. For a second their eyes locked – her liquid black orbs with his deep brown. She felt her pulse quicken; never had she been looked at like that, almost as though he could see into her very soul, like her mind was an open book for him to read.

He seemed to be having similar thoughts, as he paused for a moment. That was when Lilia saw it – _a missing finger!_

She made to run after him, but as she left the alley, someone shoved her from behind and she was flung into a wall. She turned to see who had pushed her, and was shoved again; harder this time, by the giggling madman. She stumbled backwards, knocking into women carrying pots, and landed on a merchant's stall, shattering vases and ornaments. A passing guard came to investigate the ruckus, and immediately drew his sword.

"Infidel!" cried the guard.

"Kill the assassin!" another joined in, and before long there was a veritable crowd of guards all clamouring for the woman's blood.

"What?!" she yelled. "You cannot be serious! It was an accident, how do you know I'm –". _Thunk!_ An arrow embedded itself in the wood of the stall a few inches to the right of her head.

She turned and fled, but not knowing the layout of the streets, and being more than a bit disoriented from her 'journey', it wasn't long before the guards had the assassin cornered. Lilia drew her shinobi gatana, and took down ten of her pursuers in quick succession; fluid martial arts moves coupled with expert swordsmanship was obviously something they were unused to, but a series of nicks and cuts from her attackers were beginning to take their toll, as her movement began to slow, and there were still twelve guards for her to deal with, including one archer.

Sweeping her blade across the chest of one guard, she spun round to impale another, but, being presented with the assassin's back, one man behind her seized the opportunity and threw all his body weight behind his blow, slamming the hilt of his sword between the assassin's shoulders.

Lilia yelled in pain, back arching, her grip on her sword slackened for just a moment; a moment that her assailant snatched, knocking the assassin's sword to the ground. Reaching for the sidearmstrapped to her leg, she paused just a little too long, as an arrow pierced her shoulder.

Realising that she was beaten, the man in white leapt down from the roof and landed on the chief guard like a cat, hidden blade extended into his jugular. Drawing his sword, he whirled through the nine remaining guards on the ground as swiftly as the woman assassin had done before.

As his final stroke fell, a shout caught his attention:

It was the archer, but he was no longer on the roof, but standing next to the assassin in black, with a blade to her throat. Swiftly, Lilia brought her left hand up as if to uppercut the archer, but at the last second she activated her own hidden blade, impaling the archer through the jaw and into the brain.

The man in white eyed the woman with a mixture of awe and caution as he approached her. Lilia brought her left hand to her chest, missing ring finger displayed to show she was a friend. The man looked at her, incredulous.

"I did not know our order admitted females," he remarked. His dark eyes drank in her strange features; her small nose, her straight black hair, those strange oriental eyes.

"Thank you for your assistance," Lilia replied.

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement. "How is it that you come to bear the weapon of the Hashshashin?"

"Could we perhaps save this conversation until we've left the area and I no longer have an arrow in my shoulder?" she asked, as acerbic as possible under the circumstances.

The man glowered at her for a moment; Lilia grew slightly nervous under that death stare, thinking she had pushed him too far, but he relented and said "You will come to the bureau, you can explain yourself there."

o0o

With slight difficulty, Lilia clambered up onto the rooftops with one hand, then dropped through the gap in the trellis into a shady courtyard. There was a pleasant fountain at one end, and a number of cushions and rugs piled in one corner. The man dropped down lightly behind her, and pushed her gently towards an open door leading to what appeared to be a pottery shop.

An older man dressed in midnight robes stood, paintbrush in hand, bent over a jug on his desk. "Ah, Altaïr. I trust you return –" he broke off, realising that Altaïr was not alone. "You bring a stranger here? And a woman, no less!"

"She bears the mark of the Hashshashin," Altaïr replied calmly. "I brought her here so that she could explain herself."

The bureau leader looked at Lilia harshly, and she brought her left hand up, missing finger plain for him to see, then activated her hidden blade. Though the design of the weapon was different; diamond edged carbon steel reflecting no light, the effect was profound. The Rafik gasped, taking a step back. "Explain," he commanded simply.

"I come from the year 2035, which is the year 1457 as the Hijri calendar reckons it," she spoke evenly. "I am from a time in which the Templars rule; the Assassins are now a small group of rebels, all but extinct. I have been sent back to correct a mistake that enabled the Templars to seize control."

Altaïr and the Rafik were eyeing each other out of the corner of their eyes, no doubt wondering if Lilia's madness was infectious, or dangerous.

"I understand you may find this difficult to believe, but how else do you explain this?" She pulled out her sidearm, pointed it at a distant vase, and pulled the trigger. In a blast of light, the vase exploded, showering the Rafik with dust. "Or this?" She took out her palmbook, switched it to camera function, and, with a flash that made him jump, captured the dust covered, gaping Rafik in a photo. She showed it to him, provoking a series of emotions to slide across his face, including shock, outrage, embarrassment, and amusement.

"Alright," he began slowly. "Suppose we do believe you, what is this mistake?"

"The Templars gain possession of a powerful artefact contained in a golden cup. This artefact allows them the power to control the minds of millions. I am here to prevent that." The Rafik held her gaze searchingly for a protracted moment, and when he finally broke the stare, Lilia could not tell whether or not he was satisfied.

He turned to Altaïr, "you must take her back to see Al Mualim; he will decide what must be done. This must take priority; I shall ask Malik to complete your assignment."

Altaïr bowed his head in acceptance, though Lilia saw a spasm of anger cross his features.

"Would someone kindly remove the arrow from my shoulder before we leave?" she asked as Altaïr gestured to the door.

With a somewhat sheepish expression, Altaïr nodded. "I'm sorry, I had forgotten you were injured. You hide your pain well."

"Conditioned response," Lilia smirked, mirthlessly.

Her last comment was wasted on Altaïr, but he gestured to her to take a seat on the cushions outside. She dropped her backpack in the corner, and Altaïr's eyes widened slightly as she took her top off, wincing as she pulled it along the length of the arrow shaft. Swallowing hard, he inspected the wound.

"The arrow has gone in too deep to pull out; I shall have to push it all the way through," he said, taking a firm grip on the shaft of the arrow.

"Wait!" she gasped.

"I'm sorry," he said, not waiting for her to complete her sentence. "There is no other option." He shoved hard, driving the arrow head out the other side of her shoulder.

Lilia gasped in pain and surprise. Through gritted teeth, she said "I brought tools for extracting arrows; they're in my backpack."

"Oh… sorry…" he muttered, putting a piece of linen to the wound, his face hidden in his hood. He examined the smooth skin of her back, fighting the urge to run his hand over it. "How is it that the assassins of the future bear no scars?" He murmured.

"When the bleeding stops I'll show you," she said, hooking her foot around the strap of her backpack, pulling it over.

"That may be a while." The off-white linen was rapidly turning bright red.

"Not to worry, just keep the pressure on." She fished around in her pack.

After a short silence, Altaïr's eyes fell on Lilia's discarded top. "You are very brazen for a woman," he commented.

"I'm wearing a bra," she defended.

"Bra?"

"You know, this thing," she pulled at a strap.

"Oh," he looked away. "That doesn't cover very much."

"It covers the important bits."

Altaïr's mouth twitched at the corner. "That's true." He pulled the blood drenched linen away slightly, but seeing that the blood was still flowing freely, he replaced it with a clean wad, and pressed firmly.

"So the Templars win in the end, then?"

"The end? We're no where near the end." Lilia paused, wondering how to explain temporal physics to an assassin from the twelfth century. "They haven't won. Not yet. That's why I'm here. This time things will be different."

"Why here, why now?" He asked.

"I don't exactly know when _now_ is," she admitted.

"The year 582," he replied.

"That's… 1186 in Gregorian," Lilia murmured. "Five years too far back. Not too bad. To answer your question, we did not have time to perfect our use of the artefact, but we believe it is, by its nature, random. Saying that, it was possible to narrow the destination time to within about a decade of a certain point. We had to kind of _aim_ for a time, and hope. I guess we missed, but at least the event hasn't happened yet."

"_What_ is going to happen, exactly?"

"It's like I told you; the Templars will gain possession of an artefact that they will use to dominate the world in the future."

"If they gain it now, why does it take them hundreds of years to be able to use it?"

"It is complicated, and I don't have all the answers. Technology is a major factor; they send the artefact into space to orbit the earth and reach the minds of millions. They lack the technology now."

"Space…? Into what space? And what do you mean, orbit?"

Lilia was only just beginning to appreciate exactly how difficult this task would be. "You know that the earth is round?"

"So it is said."

"So it is. Space is what lies beyond; the nothing in which the earth, sun and stars are suspended."

"Nothing?" Altaïr frowned, trying to take in the idea of nothingness. "Like the air?"

"No, there is no air in space; there's just… nothing. You breathe air, feel the wind; air is _something_. Space is nothing. And 'orbit' means roughly 'go round'; like the moon orbits, or _goes round_, the earth."

"Oh."

"Don't worry about it, it's not important."

"What would happen if you killed your ancestors in this time?"

Lilia grinned. "We're not sure, exactly. But we think that I simply would not be born in the future."

"How can you come back to kill your ancestor, if you're not born?"

"The future doesn't exist in a solid state; it's not something that's either happened or not happened. All of time is changeable; it's just that the past rarely changes. But I no longer exist in the future, I only exist now."

"But how can you exist now, if you don't exist then first?"

"Once I left my time, I left the chain of cause and effect; my appearance here was more or less random, like a quantum event. I just appeared here, my existence is no longer dependant on what came before, because I'm before the before."

Altaïr's expression looked as though he had eaten something dreadful; he spoke carefully, as though not sure he wanted to hear any more. "Quantum event?"

Lilia laughed. "No, you really don't want to know. Suffice it to say that it's random, and _really_ small."

"Your shoulder's stopped bleeding," he remarked, dryly.

"Ok," Lilia said, pulling out a cigar shaped object, and handing it to him. "Wipe off the blood, point this at the wound, and press down on the end."

Altaïr followed her instructions, eyebrows disappearing into his hood as a beam of light left the object; where the light touched, her skin mended itself without a blemish; just a raw pink area left where there had previously been a wound. He moved around and pointed the device at the front of her shoulder, determinedly avoiding her gaze.

When he was finished, he sat back on his heels, admiring his handiwork. "The wound's completely gone!"

"Ah, no. Unfortunately not," Lilia corrected. "There's not enough power in a small regenerator like this to heal the wound completely; it's just the skin that's mended; the internal wound will have to heal on its own. But this should stop it getting infected, at least."

"Oh," he sounded a little disappointed, which Lilia found strangely irritating. "The sun is setting, I think we should rest here for the night, and start off for Masyaf in the morning." Lilia nodded in assent. Altaïr regarded her for a moment. "What do you eat?"

She looked at him strangely before shrugging. "Whatever you've got."

He stared at her from under his hood for a moment longer, then nodded and stood, ran a few steps and vaulted through the gap in the roof; out into the streets of Damascus. Lilia watched him go, some unfamiliar emotion stirring in her chest.

"He likes you," the rough voice of the Rafik drifted out to her from the darkened doorway.

"Don't be absurd," she scorned.

"He's usually a rude and arrogant pig to everyone he meets, but not you. He saved you from the guards, did he not?"

"I'm having a bad day," she dismissed. "I would not normally require assistance."

"I was not implying otherwise, I simply meant to point out that the great and mighty Altaïr is not in the business of helping people."

This subject of conversation was making Lilia oddly uncomfortable, so she attempted to change the subject. "I thought you despised me for being a woman? Why are you suddenly making conversation?"

With a knowing smile, he allowed her to steer the conversation away from Altaïr, and answered "I do not despise women, I _like_ women. I was simply surprised; we are not supposed to bring strangers here."

"I'm not so strange."

"Beg to differ, milady," he said with a smirk. "You should get some rest," he gestured to the cushions, and turned back into the building.

Lilia propped herself up against the wall, careful not to jolt her injured shoulder. She had studied Altaïr for half her life; the memories of Desmond Miles were engrained in her mind, yet actually meeting him seemed to change everything. She was no longer in the animus, no longer in the fortress city where she had spent her entire life; where she was protected from harm. She was lost, a billion light years in time and space from anything or anyone familiar. Never to return.

o0o

A cold breeze chased its way up her spine, a shudder trailing in its wake. Her eyes opened to find the silhouette of an assassin looming over her. Her hand flew to her sidearm instinctively, before she realised it was just Altaïr.

"That kind of thing will get you killed, you know," she remarked.

"Are you threatening me?" he asked, darkly.

"No, but I can't be held responsible for my actions when so rudely awakened."

"I was jesting," he replied, confused.

"Well jest off, I'm sleeping here," she grouched.

"Fine," he said, eyebrows raised. "I'll just take this pan fried duck inside and eat alone."

"Pan fried duck?" All grumpiness vanished with a growl of her stomach.

Now smirking slightly, Altaïr shrugged and turned back towards the dark doorway of the Assassin's Bureau. "I'll just leave you to your res–"

But he never got a chance to finish that sentence, as Lilia had leapt up and relieved him of the duck-bearing plates. Grinning, he lit a few candles and pulled up a cushion. He had to admit, he found this strange girl from the future – if she really was from the future – to be intriguing.


	2. Two

A/N: My apologies for the long time between updates; holidays and catching up at work, and all that. I'll try to be more industious in the future ;)

Warning for one naughty swear word. I'd be interested in hearing what anybody thinks it should do to the rating... I changed it to T, is that enough?

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**Two**

Altaïr crouched on the platform, gazing out at Damascus in the half-light. The pre-dawn hours were his favourite; everyone was still asleep, and the stars were still shining in the paling sky. As the sun made its slow ascent over the slumbering city, Altaïr's thoughts turned to the woman now sleeping in the Bureau.

She was unlike any woman he had ever met, and it was this more than anything which had prompted him to accept her strange story of time travel. Surely no woman in this time could possess the grace and inner power of the most elite assassin? Then there were her unusual features; he had heard stories of the people from the far east, with slanting black eyes, but he had never seen one.

She had caught him off guard, he realised. She had made him open up; laugh and joke, she had gotten past his defences within minutes of meeting him. She was dangerous. A threat to his self control; made him feel things that a killer shouldn't feel. Already he was forming an attachment, and that was unacceptable. Those with attachments were easy to manipulate – they had too much to lose. She had to be driven away; Altaïr would be careful never to reveal so much of himself again.

o0o

Lilia opened her eyes a crack. Morning sunlight was streaming into the Bureau, catching upon the young green leaves of a creeper which was winding its way along the trellis, dancing slightly in the morning breeze. It took a moment for her to fully orientate herself, but the moment of blissful unawareness passed all too soon, swept away with the memory of where, and _who,_ she was. The enormity of what she had to do was only just beginning to impress itself upon her; already she was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed.

"You're finally awake," said a pleasant deep voice from somewhere nearby. "I was beginning to wonder if I should check your pulse. Is business so poor in the future that assassins can afford to sleep all morning?"

Lilia cast a sceptical eye at the early morning shadows; it couldn't be more than a couple of hours after dawn.

"I've been travelling a long time," she said with a smirk.

"Well it's not over yet," replied Altaïr. "We must leave for Masyaf this morning. You _do_ know how to ride, don't you?"

"Of course I do. We still have horses in the future you know, and I did actually prepare for this mission."

"Good, then let's get moving," he said, turning towards the gap in the trellis roof.

"What, no breakfast?!"

Altaïr fixed the she-assassin with a fierce glare. "You may well spend half your lives eating, and the other half sleeping when you come from, but things work differently now. We'll stop on the journey, but for now we must get moving. So _move!_" He aimed a kick at the spot where the woman sat gazing imploringly at him from the floor.

Quicker than he could blink, she scooted out of the way of his foot and was on her feet. "I'm hungry!" she persisted.

"I don't give a damn," Altaïr replied, fast losing the jovial tone with which he had begun the conversation.

"Well that's too bad, because I'm not going anywhere until I've had something to eat," she folded her arms, defiantly.

"You're not a guest, you're a prisoner, until such a time as Al Mualim decides you're not a threat, understand?" Altaïr hissed through gritted teeth.

Lilia flinched as though she had been slapped, but recovered quickly. "So you intend to starve your prisoner?"

"I _said_ we'll stop on the way," he spat, muscles beginning to tense.

"I'm hungry _now!_"

With a snarl, the assassin launched himself at his antagonist, using surprise, as well as his superior strength and body weight to pin her to the wall, his right hand keeping her hidden blade at bay, and his left closing mercilessly around her throat, preventing her from drawing breath.

"Listen carefully to what I say," he growled as she attempted fruitlessly to throw him off. "Do what I tell you, when I tell you to, and we'll have no problems." Lilia started to struggle violently for her sidearm, but couldn't reach it. Altaïr ignored her. "If you keep arguing with everything I say, I'll cut your throat and dump your body in the river." As Altaïr locked gazes with the woman, the dark fire in her eyes began to give way; replaced with pain and panic as her vision began to grey out.

Altaïr's head started to spin, and as he released his hold on the she-assassin she slumped to the floor. Heart racing, he realised he hadn't been breathing either; and as he looked down at the unconscious form of the strange woman, he felt an unfamiliar clenching sensation in his stomach.

"Any particular reason you're strangling our guest?" the Rafik's old voice drifted out from the room beyond.

Altaïr whirled around, loosing his balance slightly from light headedness. "She's not a guest; she's a prisoner, and an uncooperative one at that."

"She seems to be a member of our own order, and you just assaulted her."

The assassin made a scathing noise. "You don't seriously believe that? She's a woman, a strange looking one too," he said eyeing her oriental features.

The Rafik sighed, and said "You had best be leaving."

Altaïr turned without a word, and hoisted the limp form of the woman over his shoulder, and climbed out of the Bureau.

o0o

Lilia was bobbing. Midday sun was streaming down on her, and she was overheated; her throat felt raw and parched, and there was someone holding her in place.

As she came to, she realised she was trotting along on a large bay horse, perched uncomfortably on the pommel of the saddle in front of Altaïr. She began to wriggle free of his clutches, but stopped when she felt the cool steel of a blade pressed against her already battered neck. At once her temper flared up again, but realising it would get her no where, she changed tack.

"Please," she croaked (perhaps a little hoarser than strictly necessary), "I'm so thirsty, could we stop for a moment?"

Altaïr nodded at an oasis shimmering in the distance. "We'll stop there," he said tonelessly.

Lilia said nothing, realising her captor was in no mood for argument. Instead, she turned her thoughts to her mission; it had been going so well, then this morning everything had changed. What had she done wrong? Surely just asking for breakfast couldn't have caused this? Or sleeping later than him? Whatever had happened, it was drastic. She wasn't ready now to face Al Mualim without Altaïr on her side. She needed to regroup; needed time. Escape was the only option.

When they at last arrived at the oasis, and had both drunk their fill, Altaïr went to tend to the horse, and Lilia wasted no time. As soon as his attention was diverted, she ran fleet footed, heart pounding, to the nearest rested horse and vaulted onto its back. Without looking back, she raced out of the oasis back along the road towards Damascus, tearing up clouds of sand and dust in her wake.

She slapped the reigns either side of her mount's neck, urging it on; she could hear the thunder of hooves in pursuit. Risking a glance behind her, she saw a figure robed in white atop a midnight steed, steadily closing in on her. Digging her heels into her horse's sides, she urged it on faster still. Perhaps the beast perceived her rising panic, as it stepped up the pace – but glancing behind her once more, Lilia saw that, impossibly, the assassin was gaining on her faster still.

Looking about her wildly for some other means of escape, blood rushed in her ears; what would happen when Altaïr caught her? Images of his hidden blade slicing her throat and her lifeless body tumbling into the river assaulted her. Would he really do it? Cold fear crept up her spine as she realised the answer was probably 'yes'.

She was trapped; with no avenue for escape, she pondered surrender – perhaps that would soften his demeanour? With this shred of hope in mind, she began to reign in her horse, and was hit from the side and knocked to the ground, with a sickening pop as her shoulder dislocated. Winded, she realised Altaïr had leapt from his horse, knocked her from hers, and pinned her down like a cat on a mouse, the opening to his hidden blade positioned threateningly close to her heart.

She glanced up at his face through watering eyes; it was expressionless, like a mask. He stood up, throwing her a glare which clearly said '_stay_', and let out a clear whistle. Incredibly, both horses soon trotted obediently up to him. He ran his hand down the neck of her liver chestnut horse, and went to the saddlebags. After a few moments rummaging, he pulled out a length of rope with a satisfied smirk.

He bent down and flipped her effortlessly onto her front, and bound her hands tightly behind her back, ignoring her cry of pain as he jolted her shoulder. Lilia bit of a scream as Altaïr hoisted her up onto his tall mount, tying the reigns of her horse to the saddle. He then took the end of the rope from her wrists and looped it through the D ring on the saddle and around her neck in such a way that she would be strangled if she attempted to dismount without his help. Then they began again the journey to Masyaf.

They didn't speak until the sun sank below the hills, and they were forced to make camp, as they were still some distance from the citadel. Altaïr pulled Lilia down from the horse and hog-tied her where she sat, filthy and wracked with pain, as he built the camp fire. He then began to prepare a frugal meal, without ever glancing in her direction.

"Look, I'm sorry I demanded breakfast, OK?" Lilia whispered. "I didn't realise it would anger you so."

Altaïr said nothing, but began to dish out the food on to two plates, increasingly aware of the ridiculously trivial nature of the argument that had put him in such a bad mood.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she laboured on. "I was just really hungry, and stressed from the mission."

But it wasn't really that argument that had gotten to him, was it? He mused to himself whilst stoking up the fire. It was _her_. The way she robbed him of his self control. Then she tried to usurp whatever control he had remaining. That was it.

"Can't we just forget today? Start again?" she asked.

It wasn't her fault, though, was it? He thought. He was being unfair, punishing her like this, and here she was, offering to just forget the last day, all he had done to her. How could he refuse?

He looked up at her face in the flickering firelight, and saw to his alarm the little clean tracks that tears had made in the dirt of her face. She had been crying? But she sounded so steady, so strong. It shocked him to see her so vulnerable.

Wordlessly, he stood and walked over to her, and untied her bonds. She sighed with relief as her muscles relaxed, and turned with a smile to thank the assassin, but he had already turned his back to her and was quickly eating his meal. Lilia ate her food in silence, and watched Altaïr as he lay down to sleep for the night. She shuffled closer to him and laid a hand on his arm. "Altaïr?" she said, but received no reply. Sadly, she lay down on her good shoulder and closed her eyes.

o0o

The seconds seemed to crawl by as she lay there trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder. Minutes seemed few and far between, and by the time the moon had travelled half an inch across the sky, she could stand it no longer. Sitting up, she picked up the rope lying beside her that had so recently bound her in place. She stood, and made her way as noiselessly as possible to a nearby tree. She cast a fearful look at the slumbering assassin, afraid of his reaction if he should wake. But he seemed deep in sleep; indeed, she might actually be able to make a clean get away if she chose. But looking at his sleeping face; so peaceful, so lacking in the scorn it bore when conscious, she felt strangely reticent.

Why, she could not fathom. After all he had done to her the previous day (and for what? Some stupid argument over breakfast!) she had every right to resent him, yet she found that she didn't, and she didn't want to leave him. She had spent half her life studying this man, but now that she was here, she realised that she didn't know him in the least, he was like a stranger to her. She knew every detail about his past, yet nothing, _nothing_, about the man himself. Shaking her head helplessly, she tied one end of the rope to a branch, and the other to the wrist of her injured arm, took a deep breath and wrenched.

o0o

An ear splitting scream roused Altaïr from his sleep. He leapt to his feet; drawing his blade, looking around for the source of the disturbance. He saw nothing, except the woman, who seemed to be dangling from a tree by one arm. Panic gripped him as he ran towards her; what had happened? Had brigands discovered them in the night? Tied her up, raped her, and killed her? He knew he had been foolish not to keep watch! He had just been so worn out, physically and emotionally – but now Lilia had paid for it. How could he have been so foolish?

He knelt down beside the woman where she hung limply. Taking her form in one arm, he released her wrist, and she collapsed back into his grasp. And groaned.

"Fuck me, but that hurt," she said.

"What – ?"

"I dislocated my shoulder when I fell from the horse, couldn't sleep," she said hoarsely.

"Why didn't you say something? I could have just popped it back in place. You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry about that, but you seemed to be ignoring me last night," she answered carelessly.

A guilty pang accompanied her words, and Altaïr grimaced. "I am sorry, I didn't realise you were injured. I have some hashish to numb the pain."

"That's not necessary, I have some codeine and Tylenol in my backpack, could you grab them?"

"?" said Altaïr.

"In the side pockets, a little white tub and a sheet with white things in little pockets," she explained quickly.

After a few moments rifling through her backpack, the assassin returned with a myriad objects, which happily included the painkillers. Gobbling some down, she sighed, and motioned towards the fire.

Altaïr helped her over to the small fire, which she had obviously been tending, as it was still burning brightly. "Lie down," he said. "I'll keep watch for the rest of the night."

She smiled gratefully, and as the numbing effect of the drugs kicked in, she drifted off to sleep.

Altaïr sat in the dying light of the fire as the sky gradually began to lighten in the east. His gaze was trained constantly on the sleeping face of the mysterious she-assassin who had so suddenly dropped into his life. What would happen when they got to Masyaf, He wondered? Would Al Mualim accept her as part of their order? Would he perhaps dismiss her because she is a woman? Or would he suspect foul play, and order her execution? This last option, he thought, was not impossible. Unlike many men, Al Mualim did not look down on women, and consequently did not underestimate them.

What would Altaïr do if he was ordered to kill this woman? He had come close to doing so now on two occasions, but in truth, he knew that he had never intended to, that he wasn't sure he could. Though he had only known her for a little over a day, she had wormed her way under his skin. Her strange features, her delicate strength, her playful character; she was intoxicating, bewitching. He had tried so hard to hate her, but he couldn't.

He sighed, and as the sun peeked out from behind the mountains, Altaïr stood and prepared the horses for the final leg of their journey.


End file.
